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<title>Lights Are On / But Nobody's Home by QuintonThePhantom</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30115647">Lights Are On / But Nobody's Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuintonThePhantom/pseuds/QuintonThePhantom'>QuintonThePhantom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, He/Him and They/Them Pronouns for Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Other, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), because gender, hell yea i love to see those tags next to each other, i have many feelings, its about the... yearning from five inches away, its just soft is it is the whole thing, no beta we die, particularly about marrtin blackwood and jon jarchivist, this fic is really vague, we just die thats it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:07:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30115647</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuintonThePhantom/pseuds/QuintonThePhantom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lonely still clings to Martin some nights, a quiet cold that spills from his heart without his permission.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Lights Are On / But Nobody's Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this fic is super vague I wrote it in the middle of the night while completely detached from reality so it may be even more incoherent than i usually am.  ie= immensely.  title is from lights are on by tom rosenthal,, cause i listened to z sides on repeat while writing this that is all</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The cool air filled the room despite the tightly shut windows Jon and him had made sure to check and double-check.  It didn’t come from outside but instead pooled around Martin as though spilling out from a place deep within him.  It was an intangible place, but in a visceral way that felt more real than the weight of the thick, rough blanket that pressed down on him.</p><p>He watched.  The irony was not lost on him, to be the one who was watching the Archivist.  Still, his eyes traced the lines of the face that rested inches from his with an almost intentional longing.</p><p>His gaze caught on each of its minute details, and yet he knew that despite his best efforts, by the time it left he would have forgotten the exact shape of said detail.  He tried not to be disheartened by this fact, telling himself it only meant his eyes had an excuse to keep gliding over the shapes that made up the form of person he loved.  He remained quite sad over it despite himself.</p><p>When the mist that swelled up from within Martin’s heart hit Jon’s face, they opened their eyes nigh immediately.  There was an urgency in those deep brown eyes, a nagging need for something that Martin wasn’t quite sure of.  Those eyes, dark and wide and watching, seemed to stretch on forever when he let himself get lost in them.  It was very easy to do so, he found.  Martin supposed it wasn’t difficult for him to get lost anywhere these days, though, so maybe that wasn’t saying much.</p><p>When Jon spoke, that insistent urge bled into their words.  “Are you alright?” he whispered, barely disturbing the stillness of the night.  He extended a hand and when it touched the side of Martin’s face, he realized how cold that chill must’ve been, because their palm was like a small fire pressed against their stinging skin.</p><p>“Yes,” he croaked out, barely managing to make a noise at all.  It was like icicles had formed on his vocal cords in the time since he last spoke.  That… must’ve been last night, right?</p><p>He had the memory of playing board games with Jon and settling into a quiet banter that underlay the evening.  It felt like it was someone else’s memory, though.  Like it had been another Martin that gently chided Jon for the mistake he’d made, who’d gaped slack-jawed at them when they pulled the rug out from under him and won without warning.</p><p>It seemed that Martin was many years removed from the one who’d been staring in silence for what could’ve been hours or minutes.  This Martin, gazing into Jon’s worried eyes with a detached investment, isn’t sure if he knows what time is.  He’s sure it doesn’t feel real, he thinks.  He’s sure he doesn’t make out the words he knows are being spoken at him, even if he can still pick out the shaky forced calm they’re spoken in.</p><p>Jon places another hand on Martin’s face and his warm, thrumming skin is impossible to ignore.  Martin blinks a few times, his eyes refocusing.  He was uncertain of when the world had first blurred into vague shapes, but now the image of Jon’s weary, intimately close was pulled into sharp focus and it flooded him with an emotion he couldn’t name.</p><p>The way Jon’s eyebrows pinched together and his brown eyes watered with unshed tears that Martin knew were For Him, it made his heart twinge with regret and simultaneously his head reel with adoration.</p><p>He lifted a limp, numb arm through the static that the world around him seemed to be made up of.  He draped it over Jon’s shoulder, pulling them closer to him.  “I’m sorry,” Martin whispered, and his voice sounded unfamiliar but he pushed on.  “I didn’t.  Didn’t catch that?” he said, exhaling in an abrupt sound of nervous half-laughter.  He hadn’t said anything particularly funny.  Or maybe he had, his lungs felt too full to tell the difference.  It was probably fine either way.</p><p>Jon’s hands were trembling, as far as he could tell.  “Don’t apologize.  I didn’t… didn’t want to force you.  But…”  they trailed off, giving their head a single firm shake.  “Are you… with me?”</p><p>Martin hummed lightly, lifting a heavy hand to run what he thought must’ve been fingers through Jon’s silky smooth hair.  Some part of him recalled that Jon had showered earlier that night, and provided him with an image of Jon in one of Martin’s shirts which was far too big for him, wet hair clinging to his back.  Martin thanked the part of him that did this, as it brought a small breathless smile to his face.</p><p>“I’m here,” he said with an airy quality to his voice.  “I’m here and I see you.  And I love the you I see,” he added, for good measure.  The way Jon relaxed into him, like he was melting, left Martin feeling lightheaded.  “That’s good,” he said, one of his hands ghosting its way down Martin’s neck.</p><p>The cold and hot, previously burning sensations, had started to make way for room temperature.  When Jon’s hands slid across Martin’s skin, they even felt more like a pleasant buzzing than an oppressive heat.</p><p>“Do you want to talk?” they asked, watching him with a nigh-intense deliberacy.  Martin could feel the depth with which they beheld him.  The knowledge that he was known, laid bare not because of any fear god but because Martin had chosen to allow himself to be known, filled his senses with a choking, painful love.  He could’ve cried as he watched Jon wait patiently for his answer, rubbing his delicate fingers against Martin’s neck with care.</p><p>“Is it alright if I say no?” Martin asked, even if he knew the answer.  He just wanted to hear him say it, and he thought Jon might’ve known it, too.  Still, Jon replied in the gentle tones of the voice that was his, sure as ever, “Of course not, dear.”</p><p>Martin’s heart might’ve burst, but instead he leaned forward to press his forehead to Jon’s.  Jon didn’t miss a beat, curling into Martin as though it were the most natural thing in the world.  With this person- the person he loves, he is quite sure- holding him close, limbs a tangled mess that would barely for an embrace, Martin thinks it might just be.</p><p>He starts to feel a warmth filling him up as he exhales slowly, wrapping his very real arms around Jonathan Sims.  He welcomes it, and soon welcomes the sleep.  By the time morning light is casting a gentle glow on his eyelids, the blurry, messy sensations of being adrift have been overshadowed by a joyful, if still messy, gratitude</p><p>When Jon wakes and starts to shift as though to leave, Martin wordlessly tugs him a bit closer.  They sigh fondly and allow him to gently pull them near again.  “Alright,” Jon whispers into his neck, and Martin can hear his smile.  “Just a bit longer.”</p><p>They lay together in the morning sun for at least another hour, and when they leave the island that is their bed they do so together.</p>
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